


The Bright but Faded Lights

by caelestislux



Category: Faded - Alan Walker (Song), Miraculous Ladybug
Genre: Ambiguous/Open Ending, Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Anxiety, Bisexual Nathaniel Kurtzberg, Episode: s02 Reverser, Fear, Gay Marc Anciel, Inspired by Music, Inspired by an Alan Walker song, M/M, Marc Anciel Has an Anxiety Disorder, Pre-Relationship, Song Lyrics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-23
Updated: 2020-07-23
Packaged: 2021-03-04 23:21:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,326
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25460857
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/caelestislux/pseuds/caelestislux
Summary: While the villain may be defeated, insecurities still linger, and a future comic book team has a lot to work through. That is, if they can find the courage to talk things through. Post-Reverser fic.All credit for song lyrics and title go to Alan Walker's "Faded".
Relationships: Alix Kubdel & Nathaniel Kurtzberg, Marc Anciel & Nathaniel Kurtzberg, Marc Anciel/Nathaniel Kurtzberg
Comments: 4
Kudos: 39
Collections: MarcNath Fics!





	The Bright but Faded Lights

**Author's Note:**

> I love Alan Walker's music, and Faded has such good Marcaniel vibes. So I wanted to write something based on it, with some of the lyrics sprinkled in. This is the end product of that.

* * *

_Another star, you fade away_

_Afraid our aim is out of sight_

_Wanna see us alight_

* * *

Pencil scratched across paper, cutting black lines through the white of the pages of the sketchbook. Some lines thicker than others, forming a neck, shoulders, a face . . . ones that the artist had memorized the design of so long ago. Then another person beside the first, this one with symmetrical hair, a blocky, geometric design, and the insignia of a split circle—

The pencil screeched to a halt.

“I can’t do this.” Nathaniel muttered to himself. He clenched his writing utensil so tightly he feared he’d break it, but he couldn’t stop. If he let go, his hand would start shaking again, letting his fear and compulsion overwhelm his body and filling him with regret far beyond what he’d experienced in as long as he could remember. Holding onto something to steady himself was far easier than re-confronting the fact that he truly believed himself to be a bad person.

“Sure you can.”

He glanced up, meeting Alix’s eyes, half-shaded by her gas mask. The fumes must’ve been getting to her anyway though, since there was no other way anyone would have faith in him now. 

“I messed up.” he muttered, resting his head on his free hand. 

“And what about it? Now’s your chance for a redo.”

“A _redo?"_ Somehow the thought was almost worse than the ones that had been floating around his head before. Because as nice as the thought was, having a redo in a relationship was more than one could bargain for. “Forget it. He was nice the last time we talked, but that’s because we were in front of Ladybug and Chat Noir. Of course he’d be nice!” 

Fingers clenched the side of the previously-drawn picture and ripped it from the sketchbook. The sound of paper ripping was enough to jar Nathaniel back to reality, to send him leaning back into his chair with the slight sensation of tears beginning to form. He stared down at the picture of Reverser he’d half-drawn, slightly smeared now, and felt sick all over again. If an akuma was going to show up, it was just as well—

“You like him, huh?”

His head snapped up at her words. “What?”

Alix shrugged, returning to her latest graffiti design. “I don’t know man, you acted this way after . . . you know.”

“Evillustrator.”

She winced at the name. “Yeah, that. Sorry, I didn’t know if you wanted to be reminded about it. But anyway, you acted like this around Marinette, all scared and thinking that she’d hate you. But guess what, she didn’t.”

“That’s different.” Nathaniel dropped the pencil, letting it roll to the ground and underneath his chair. Out of sight. “I was akumatized; she was aware of that. And I don’t have a crush on her anymore. But this time I actually was just . . . the worst. And then there’s Marc, he’s . . . yeah.”

Words failed him, but oh god, the thought of Marc didn’t. 

Talented, stunning, incredible, pretty— _oh shit._

“You like him?” 

She wasn’t teasing, just like before. No, it was almost worse to hear her brutally honest tone, her sincerity that drove him to seriously rethink the way his new comic partner appeared in his mind . . . in his daydreams . . .

But even as he thought through his feelings, it became apparent that he’d known it all along. Even if he wasn’t fully aware of what it meant, the same fluttery sensations that had shot through his heart every time he’d interacted with Marinette before. 

That’s how he’d spent a lot of the past few days: thinking about Marc. Wondering what their next interaction would be like. Hoping, fearing, and everything in between. But mostly, wondering how someone so incredible would ever take any sort of interest in a guy like him. Marc was a literal angel, and Nathaniel was just the opposite, the monster that had ripped through both his notebook and his heart. It was like in the comics when the villain was only spurred on by some other outside force, the _real_ villain. He hated that connection with a passion—he was supposed to be the hero!—but he couldn’t see past the thought. That’s the other thing that plagued his mind: shame.

He wanted to wrap his arms around the other boy, clutching his gloved hands. He wanted to brush Marc’s hair out of his face and stare into his striking emerald eyes, memorizing the color so he could replicate it with his paints later. And above all, he wanted to say just how sorry he was, how he wished that there would be a second chance to avoid the whole fiasco in the first place, that he was an absolute idiot. 

Still, the chance of even the latter happening was so low, so miniscule, that he could hardly imagine even an inkling of a friendship working out between the two of them. It’s not like people became friends with the people that akumatized them, much less . . . anything more.

But the more he thought about it, the more somber the realization got. He _wanted_ it to happen.

“. . . yeah, I guess I do.”

* * *

_Was it all in my fantasy?_

_Where are you now?_

_Were you only imaginary?_

* * *

Step by step. Marc walked down the hallway, placing one foot in front of the other. His heart pounded against his chest like a jackhammer, bringing him nearly to hysterics. It was hard to ignore, but he did his best to keep moving forward, gaze steady on the hallway in front of him. 

His breathing quickened as the door to Room 33 came into view. 

That’s where Nathaniel was.

Oh god, he wasn’t going to be able to do it, was he?

He’d always dreamed and thought about what it’d be like to meet and converse with his idol, the artist he’d always looked up to and thought so highly of. And the second interaction between the two involved literally the worst of the worst: his writing being rejected and ripped, crying on his hands and knees, and eventually, being akumatized. And as the anger and pain overtook him, the only thing he could focus on was his loss, the fact that he’d had his hopes and dreams taken away, the fact that _his crush_ hated him . . .

No. He didn’t want to think about that.

What if . . . 

What if Nathaniel knew now? 

They’d shared a moment when he’d been de-akumatized, but that didn’t count. Right? It couldn’t count. He knew that Nathaniel had a crush on Marinette before, and now Ladybug . . . the chances of him being straight were high. And would he be upset if he found out about Marc’s feelings? Obviously he was upset before, it could happen again—

No, he couldn’t think like that. He didn’t want to get akumatized again.

Being Reverser was scary, scarier than he’d imagined. He’d always thought that akumatized victims remembered what they did, but not knowing was so much worse. If he’d known, he would’ve seen Nathaniel’s art of the bad-turned-good Evillustrator in a new light. It had to be a coping mechanism, right? Marc could use something like that . . . he wasn’t sure he’d be comfortable doing origami or whatever until he got over the Reverser incident.

Did Nathaniel even want to do the comic book anymore? It’s not like he said anything about it when Marc had seen him last. And as nice as he’d been, it could just be for show, in front of his crush and all that. Not to mention the sound of Nathaniel’s harsh tone, his angry words, the hatred that had bubbled to the surface in that moment. And Marc would’ve been furious, but no, he couldn’t even feel _that_ , just hurt. Hurt and shame for even trying. 

Wouldn’t it just be better if Marc never showed up? Nathaniel didn’t really need a writer anyway— _anyone_ could learn how to write, right? Either way, Nathaniel would hate him just as he had before, and then what would that accomplish? Just hurting his heart further? Giving him this one last moment of his distant crush possibly being a reality before being dashed again? Why had he ever thought it would work?

Marc froze in his tracks. 

He wasn’t going to do it.

He _couldn’t_. 

The lights from the corners of his eyes as tears slowly formed in his eyes. Without waiting for an opportunity for someone to see him cry, he turned on his heel and dashed down the hallway, boots clacking on the linoleum floor. 

* * *

_Where are you now?_

_Under the bright but faded lights_

_You set my heart on fire_

* * *

“Shit.” Alix dropped her paint can, turning to face the door. “I hear him.”

Nathaniel didn’t answer, just continued to search for his pencil on the ground. Paint splatters and dust bunnies stained his hands, but he hardly paid attention, hyperfocused on finding the damn thing so he could at least put his mind to art. He didn’t trust his thoughts to wander, didn’t trust what might come to mind—

_“Nath!”_

“Hmm?”

Alix ripped off her mask. _“_ He’s _running away!”_

Nathaniel froze, listening. And sure enough, from down the hall, he could make out the faint sound of quick footfalls, not unlike the sound of combat boots pounding down a linoleum hallway . . .

And then they were gone. _Marc_ was gone.

“Well?” Alix gestured to the doorway, hand on her hip. “Aren’t you going to go find him? This is your big chance! You heard loud and clear that you’d have the opportunity for a redo, now here it is! Go show him that you care for him and all that sappy stuff.”

“I—”

“ _Go!_ ”

He didn’t hesitate, didn’t think. Heart pounding and head swimming slightly, Nathaniel shoved open the door to the art room. Through his now blurred vision which had succumbed to the haze of the moment, he couldn’t see anyone down either side of the hallway; not running, not sitting, nothing. 

And just as Marc had done, he raced to the staircase, thundered down to the courtyard and glanced to the door. Wide open. Without any pause he booked it to the door as fast as his feet could take him. His chest ached, sweat started to form on his forehead. And when he burst through the doorway, sunlight struck him, blinding even more. 

“Marc!” he cried out, voice hoarse already. No answer, no familiar figure walking away.

Nothing.

Now Nathaniel stopped to let himself catch a breath. His hair clung his neck and his face, and his blazer had become nigh-unbearable and uncomfortable. Still, he didn’t make any cosmetic adjustments, as that didn’t matter. Marc could be getting akumatized again at that very moment, and Nathaniel would be wracked with guilt all over again for not finding him any faster. 

He raced back into the school, eyes darting all over the courtyard. No thoughts occupied his head, like a blank canvas that one had yet to fill. All he could focus on was picking out Marc’s form among the few remaining students. But no, he didn’t see anyone that even slightly resembled the shy writer, and all the classrooms were closed.

Discouraged, Nathaniel trudged back up the stairs, collapsing into a sitting position on the top one. Exhausted and disappointed. They’d been close— _so damn close_ —but no. It’s like they weren’t meant to meet after all.

As Nathaniel’s breathing slowed, something pricked at his ears. 

A sharp sob.

From right beneath him . . . 

Nathaniel glanced sideways, attempting to see under the stairs, and caught sight of dark hair and a red hoodie—

_“Marc!”_

The other boy didn’t look up or even acknowledge that he’d been called. So Nathaniel made his way back down the stairs and into Marc’s favorite writing spot, his little alcove under the stairs that was somehow both in the open and private. How had he not checked there yet? Was that strike three?

“Marc, are you okay?” he attempted. He could already sense the word vomit bubbling up, much to his chagrin. “Sorry, I don’t know if I scared you or something, but I wasn’t trying to . . . look, I just wanted to say—well, I should’ve said it before, but I’m just . . . I’m so sorry, Marc. I hurt you and I just—agh, I can’t say it. I want to tell you how much . . . just how . . .”

“It’s okay, Nathaniel.”

But the tone of his voice, the somber yet solemn attitude in which he spoke, all implied the direct opposite. And the light tears that still shimmered on his face didn’t help matters either. He was hurting, but he wasn’t showing it.

“Really, Nathaniel.” Marc continued, clutching his shoulders with shaking hands. “It’s okay. I-I don’t want to talk about it. And I don’t want Hawkmoth to find me crying again, twice in one week.”

_Oh._

He was scared of becoming Reverser again.

And Nathaniel could feel for him. Evillustrator was one of his biggest regrets, biggest fears. After all, he’d gone to Chloe’s house and tried to _murder_ her in cold blood with _flying blades_. She deserved her comeuppance for being such a bully to him, but not like that. And he actually remembered that part more than anything else. He could see himself now, taunting her the way a cat plays with its food. For once, he’d had the upper hand over the class bully, and he hated it. Reverser had a similar situation, having attempted to send trash hurtling through space, threatening the safety and livelihood of everyone in Paris. Of course Marc would fear it. Of course he’d try to bottle it up in order to suppress any possible emotions that Hawkmoth could latch onto.

“You know,” Nathaniel began, crossing his legs and moving slightly closer to Marc. The other boy didn’t react to this, though a slight red crept over his cheeks. “After I was akumatized, I took some time to recover, and then I used the character in my artwork. The, uh, ones you wrote about.” He flinched at how obviously his tone grew quiet at that. 

“Yeah?” Marc turned his head slightly, still not meeting Nathaniel’s eyes.

“Yeah. And it helped. I was able to turn the memory of something awful into something that made me feel powerful. Like I’d conquered my demons.” His face grew hot as he realized how cheesy that sounded, but judging by Marc’s thoughtful expression, it wasn’t as bad as he thought. 

Marc tapped a pen against his chin, eyes focused and gazing out to the school doorway. The tears forming in his eyes had disappeared, and now only wet, slightly black-tinted streaks remained. 

Nathaniel didn’t wait for him to respond, instead immediately jumping back into his rush of words. “And I was thinking about our comic, the one you wanted to do all along, and uh . . . w-would you like to add Re—uh, your akuma to it? It’s totally your choice, if you don’t feel comfortable writing about him I understand, but I don’t know . . . it might help.”

Marc finally turned all the way, his green eyes cutting as he stared directly at Nathaniel. Not angrily, but just obviously deep with thought and emotion. “Yeah.” he finally spoke, taking a short breath as he did so. “That sounds nice. I’d like to at least try.”

Nodding, Nathaniel pulled the ripped, half-drawn illustration of Reverser from his back pocket. “I-it’s not very good, but I tried to draw him? I think he's accurate anyway. But—” 

He froze when Marc’s soft hands took the paper from his own. The other boy glanced over it, looking first at Reverser, then Mightillustrator, then back at Reverser. A small smile began to form on his lips, but it disappeared just as quickly as it had arrived. Marc’s eyes flicked to the side, causing him to exhale deeply. “You still want to do a comic book with me?”

“I do!” Nathaniel insisted, nearly scaring the poor boy in his excitement. The words poured out again, admitting nearly everything that he’d wanted to say before but just couldn’t work up the damn nerve. “And I was so stupid to rip your notebook and tell you we’d never work together. It’s not true, I was just upset, but that doesn’t excuse anything I did or said. I’m so sorry Marc, and I hope I can make it up to you in any way possible. I'd love to try our comic book again.”

Marc didn’t respond for a moment, just sitting there with an expression to rival that of a poker player. But slowly, his smile returned, twisting his shiny lipgloss-stained lips upward. And with the smile, it was like the sun had returned once again, dispelling the gray clouds that had flanked the past few days. “I forgive you. And I’d love to make that comic book with you.”

And with that, Nathaniel impulsively reached over and hugged the writer, just as Mme. Bustier had coached him to do after a fight. But this time was different, this time he could feel his chest constrict as the two of them made contact, his face tickled by Marc’s wispy hair, both of their heartbeats thumping heavily. Marc’s hands still shook, even while pressed against Nathaniel’s back. But he was there and okay and an understanding had passed between them. Peace reigned. 

“But . . .” Nathaniel began, his breathing quickening as he pulled away to speak. “There is one thing that I’d like to change about our storyline. Well, besides adding Reverser.”

“There is?” Marc cocked his head slightly. “What is it?”

Breathe. That was the key for Nathaniel to not like his fear overtake him, to breathe. He clasped his hands together, cracking his knuckles to give him something— _anything_ —else to focus on. “As much as I love the current storyline, I don’t really think that Mightillustrator and Ladybug should be in a relationship. Ladybug and Chat Noir have a lot more chemistry, anyway."

"Oh."

"But! I still want Mightillustrator to be in a relationship. Uh, if that’s okay with you.”

This gave Marc pause, causing his expression to twist first in curiosity then in interest as he seemed to think through the rest of the characters in the stories and ultimately coming up with none. “With who?”

This was it, the moment of truth. The moment where Nathaniel would either lose his new friend or build a whole new side of a relationship that he definitely wanted to keep. And letting it sit and hide in the dark was so tempting, so easy, but he couldn’t do that. He had to say something; otherwise he just knew that it would kill him slowly from the inside. It already was. And if Marc didn’t feel the same, if he hated him for even asking, the loss would hit deeply, but the ability to finally confess to one of his crushes and at least making peace with someone he hurt in a bout of anger would be enough to press on with, at least for the time being.

“Well, maybe the hero version of Reverser?” And if that weren’t obvious enough, Nathaniel still couldn’t stop the words from pouring out as he sputtered, “The one based on you.”

Time seemed to stand still.

A quiet breeze swept through the courtyard, ruffling the two boys’ hair. 

Then . . .

A hand slipping into Nathaniel’s. 

A crumpled drawing being placed in front of him.

The artist turned, and all he could focus on were those electric emerald eyes. Mesmerizing and like works of art themselves. 

And Marc’s voice, soft like the wind but far more confident than it had come across any other time the two of them had spoken. A voice so gentle that Nathaniel couldn’t believe that he’d ever assumed the speaker would trick him. Not someone that sounded so kind and sweet. 

“I-I’d like that.”

* * *

_I'm letting go, a deeper dive_

_Eternal silence of the sea_

_I'm breathing, alive_

* * *


End file.
